


In The Morning

by QueenoftheHobbits



Series: Soft Thighs Series [86]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Drunk Reader, F/M, Sweet Bucky, overweight reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:10:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheHobbits/pseuds/QueenoftheHobbits
Summary: In the morning you’ll regret drinking so much, but you’ll also be glad for his help.





	

You weren’t a big nor heavy drinker, but there were those days when you just needed to have a drink or two or three or maybe four and let loose and relax. You’d had an absolute shit week, between your mission with Nat going to pot and your aunt phoning you up solely to have a go at you about something stupid you decided you deserved to get drunk and have fun with your team mates.

The main benefit many would admit to having super soldiers around is that they couldn’t get drunk, so they were always there to look out for you all if you got too drunk...that and they could carry you without hassle if you were that sleepy or drunk or giving them a hard time. They were built in babysitters for you all when you decided to go out drinking. 

No one realises just how drunk you are until you’re trying to clamber onto the table, swinging your wide hips from side to side and begging Wanda to dance with you. The others, some more sober than others, know that you’ll regret it in the morning if they allow you to dirty dance on a table. It wasn’t until you started preparing to strip that Bucky decided you needed to go home, sleep and never take your top off in front of strangers. He loved you. He did...but drunk you was wild. 

“Buckkkkyyyyy!” You whine at him when he grabs you by the thick waist and swings you over his shoulder rather like a sack of potatoes but just a little bit gentler. 

“C’mon, doll, you need some water and bed.”

“But I want to dance! Won’t you dance with me?” He smiles as he says goodnight to the others and walks out of the bar. You’re cute when you’re drunk. The first time you said you loved him you were drunk, liquid courage filling your veins and lipstick smudged around your lips. It hadn’t been romantic, but it didn’t need to be to mean something to him.

“Once we’re back at your room we’ll dance all you want, sugar” It’s enough to appease your drunken self and you settle yourself comfortably over his shoulder, his shoulder digging into your soft stomach with every step. Every now and then he could feel you slap his ass as he walked, he chose to ignore it in favour of getting you back somewhere private where you could perhaps sober up.

By the time he gets you to the tower and to your room you’re singing ‘Sexy Back’ under your breath and using his ass like a drum and quite frankly he can’t find it anything but adorable. 

“Dance?” The first thing you ask when he lowers you to your feet and he can’t not oblige you. If drunk you can remember that she wants to dance after a 20 minute walk then drunk you deserved a dance.

It’s not graceful, you’re tripping over your feet and his and you nearly fall on multiple occasions but he doesn’t mind when you step on his feet or giggle about something that only you know about.

He leaves you lying on your bed after you’re appeased to grab you a glass of water and makes you drink it all before helping you into your pajamas and under the covers. 

He’s making to leave and go to his own room when you grab his arm like a child, “No.” and he finds himself allowing you to pull him back to the bed and letting you cuddle up to his chest. Your soft cheek smushed against his chest and your make-up smudged. 

He’s doesn’t complain and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep with you there either. 

It’s not till the morning that you have your wits about you. Everything feels like death. You feel like you have the flu combined with having been beaten up in a brawl and you swallow the painkillers in your bedside table the moment you notice them. You don’t notice Bucky, smiling in his sleep, until the pain of your head has subsided somewhat. 

You have brief memories of dancing, of butt touching and you find yourself grateful that your boyfriend doesn’t mind handling you on the odd occasion when you get drunk. You thank your lucky stars that he always looks out for you even if it means dancing with you while you’re half tripping over your feet. 


End file.
